Fragments
by pants2match
Summary: "That couple that were there… they'd been married sixty-six years." She lets out a wry chuckle and picks up her drink. "Sixty-six years, Morgan, I haven't even known her sixty-six months." [emily's hangover post-run, and the day after]


He'd shown up maybe two hours ago, six pack in hand and a smirk on his lips.

"How's your head, princess?" Emily grunts in response, opening the door completely allowing him to pass through.

He sets the six pack down and pulls out two bottles. He looks over to Emily sympathetically as she plucks a beer from his hand. "And your heart?" She shoots him a look and twists the cap off with her sweater.

Beer bottles empty, they've got Emily's bottle of Glenlivet 21 (a gift from Rossi, "for the big 4-0") sitting between their feet on the coffee table. She's been silent for a few minutes now, chewing her lip relentlessly. It's red and swollen and looks sore as hell.

"So, I'm guessing last night was the straw that broke the camel's back." Morgan slurs. He watches her from his place on the plush seat, taking her in (profiling her, his mind amends). She's slumped in the corner of the couch, fingering the piping of the cushion over her midsection, minimising herself as much as she can with the heels pushing at the table. Her eyes flit around the room, she's got her bottom lip between her teeth and she winces every time a sore spot on her fingertips brushes the cushion.

She looks lost.

After a minute she takes a breath and looks down at the cushion, suddenly intent on the intricate woven pattens. "I thought when she didn't say yes the first time… maybe…" She shrugs and sits up, retrieving her tumbler.

She slumps back down and goes to say something, but stops herself before draining her glass of all but a few drops.

"I knew… before she did, I think…" She watches the remaining liquid glide along the bottom of the glass as she rotates the it slowly for a few moments as Morgan watches her. "When I told her she should go for Will. I knew she was pregnant… She, she held herself differently, like she didn't know how to fit in her own skin"

He knows there's more, so he waits. After a minute he nods to her empty glass and she hands it to him gratefully. He only gives her one finger, which is probably for the best, still she pouts a little as he hands it back.

Slowly, she sips at the Scotch, savouring the taste, the perfume, the dull heat as it travels down her throat. "I was fifteen. Travelled too much to really fit in anywhere and I was… desperate." She sets her glass back down and shifts, can't seem to get comfortable the way she was before. "Do you remember, a few years ago, Matthew Benton? He was," she swallows, "exorcised." Morgan nobs sombrely. "He came with me. He held my hand. He… stood up for me when I didn't have the strength." She looks him straight in the eye, the first time since they started on the Scotch. "If it wasn't for him I'd be dead."

After a moment Morgan takes a sip from his own glass. "So what did you say when JJ told you?"

She moves now, closer to him, legs hanging over the armrest; she's looking at him, a slight smile gracing her lips. "I was excited for her. Which I was… and I mean, look at her with Henry. I don't think she's ever been happier, it's… amazing." She lets out a soft chuckle. "God, between me and Garcia you've got your hands full with broken hearts."

He leers playfully at her. "Well, it wasn't too bad having two lovely, lushed ladies in my arms half the night."

Emily smiles a full-blown grin, for a few moments she forgets that she's going to be leaving him, why she's drinking heavily through a hangover.

She lets out a breath.

"It was weird, you know, when you and Jayje came in after the, uh, explosion." He raises his eyebrows, remembering, trying to figure out what was wrong. "She was calling for him. Not for me. It was weird because she'd always called for me… I guess I'd just gotten it into my head that it'd always be me, you know." She takes an easy breath and smiles at him forlornly. "I'm glad, though… that you were there, that you were… calling for me, that someone was."

"Em, I'll always call for you."

"I know." She sounds meek, he thinks, or maybe she's just at that point, the insecure-drunk point. He's never seen her get this far, at least not one-on-one. He guesses at this point on Girls' Night JJ would be trying to tug her back on the dance floor, while Garcia assures her that she's the most tantalising girl in the place (though that was never really what she was worried about). "That couple that were there… they'd been married sixty-six years." She lets out a wry chuckle and picks up her drink. "Sixty-six years, Morgan, I haven't even known her sixty-six months."

She takes a swig and sets the glass down. "I checked."

"Yeah, well neither has Will."

"You know, I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse…" She slides back down the couch with a huff. "I was thinking, this morning, if she'd never met Will, then…" Emily sits back up, crossing her legs beneath her and begins picking at her cuticles. "Then I think about how selfish that is…"

"I think about what would happen if Garcia had never met him, Battle." She raises an eyebrow at him. Of course he does. "But then I think 'What would've happened then?' 'What would be different?'"

"You never know, you could be married with three stunning, genetically perfect children." He laughs at her. Sure, right. "She'd end up making a move because you wouldn't have the balls."

"Oh, really, I don't have the balls? Woman I will—"

"But you'd buy her a ring after the first date." He shuts up and smiles to himself. "You'd wait though... 'til some corny, adorable, very you-and-Garcia-esque anniversary." Morgan smiles to himself, nodding slightly. "See, I know you Derek... better than you think I do. We're not all that different."

He makes a noise of disapproval. "You may know me, but I know you too… You'd make a move. Wouldn't have to be a big one, though. When… when Garcia was shot, I saw you two. Hell, for a while there we all thought there was something going on."

"Yeah, so did I."

—

When Emily finally wakes, she's surprised she's not on the couch.

Slowly the fog clears, though. Sometime around two, Morgan had all but carried her to the bedroom, probably would have if he hadn't had almost as much to drink as her (she hadn't eaten since the night before, either, which always played a part in her alcohol tolerance. She can be quite the escapist when she wants to). He must have left then.

The ring of her cell penetrates her thoughts. It's JJ.

"Hey, Jayje, what's up?" She's hungover something fierce, still fells half asleep, and probably is slurring, too.

"Em, I've been down here knocking for fifteen minutes, when you didn't pick up the third time I started to worry." All Emily really registers is the concern in JJ's voice. She thinks back to last night, God, she was awful. She lead me on, Morgan; She plays games with people, she flirted with me even while she was seeing Will; She used me, Morgan. She knew she had me wrapped around her little fucking finger. Even after Henry was born it's like she got off on it, she'd give me an inch then snatch it back and it hurt.

"Sorry, I… I was in the shower. Uh, what time is it?"

"Just about three. We didn't get to talk much the other night, I just wanted to—"

"I'll be down in a second, just hold on."

Emily sits up and it's like her whole body is sinking back in protest. Her legs are heavy and she pretty sure she might throw up. She's in the clothes she was wearing the night before, but honestly doesn't care. JJ knows her, all of her; probably knew why she'd be in baggy jeans and a rumpled flannel button down, why her hair's a mess, why her nails are down to the nub.

Why her eyes are still red.

Still, it takes her five minutes to make it to the door; she peels off the shirt and dons a hoodie, all but douses herself in body spray, half-brushes her teeth, and picks up as many glasses and bottles as she can along the way. When she finally makes it, she lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

JJ's lips twitch when she finally sees Emily. "I knew you didn't just get out of the shower." Emily lets out a laugh and smiles affectionately.

"Yeah, I regretted it the moment I said it." She nods to let JJ in, and she makes herself at home, trying to to get Emily to sit, rather than pace. "I, uh, I didn't get to say it at the wedding, but I'm really happy for you guys. I'm glad I could be there."

"I'm glad you were there as well."

Emily sits, finally. She's tempted to pull her legs up and hug her shins like a child. Honestly, she just wants to get the wedding talk over, she knows JJ wouldn't come to her just to say thanks.

"Garcia called me. Said Morgan showed up at her place at two-thirty, completely hammered." Emily rolls her eyes, of course he did. "She wanted me to come check up on you. Figure I'd give you a few hours to wake up."

"Yeah, it was a, uh, late night."

"I figured as much. That's not the only reason I'm here, though. Will and I, uh, Rossi's got a cabin just out of Harrisonburg so we're driving out tonight and I just… I wanted to see you." It takes her a moment, but JJ smiles, completely, and without reservation. "It takes me until I'm about to leave for a week to realise just how happy I am that you're home. I mean, I thought I knew when you first came back, but now I really just can't imagine feeling happier than I did last night, and I know we didn't really get to talk or anything, but just knowing you were there and seeing you with everyone else, with our family… it felt like we were whole again."

Emily goes to speak but JJ cuts her off.

"I know you're thinking about—you're leaving, and I'm not trying to guilt you into staying, honestly, but…" She drags her hands down her face and starts to pace, exactly why she'd sat down in the first place. […] "I love Will, I do, I love him, but some days…" […] "and I am so, so glad that I met him, because he's why I have Henry, and there's nothing about him that I don't love more than life itself. But, I just can't stop thinking about if…"

"JJ…"

"I didn't love Will when… when you told me to go for him, I didn't love him. I mean, I liked him. A lot. But… maybe I just wanted to be with someone, you know? After Gideon left, and Garcia was shot, it felt like the team was splintering. Morgan was over-protective, Spence was… not doing well. And we weren't… it was like everyone was drifting apart, and I needed someone I could hold on to."

At some point Emily had pulled her legs under herself and was resting her chin on her thumbs, index fingers over her lips as she watched JJ's animated movements.

"It wasn't like it was something tangible, that feeling, and I just didn't feel like… like you guys would get it, like... I had the strength to pull you back to me… and I was thinking about it, how when… when Reid was taken by that—and the—the dogs… and you were the only person who…" JJ cuts herself off in frustration.

"I got you to look at me." JJ nods earnestly. "I was thinking about that yesterday. How after Will was… after Will was shot, you were just silent, and I-"

"I don't want to talk about that." Emily sits forward, looks JJ dead on. "This isn't about Will. It's about how I woke up this morning and thought about how different my life would be if you hadn't told me to go to him, because I thought…" She stills, willing Emily to catch on to what she can't say.

Emily shakes her head. "JJ, I told—I could tell…" JJ's brow furrows in confusion. "It wasn't even something conscious but I knew you—I know you and I know how you are, how you hold yourself, how you—I could tell." Shit. "You couldn't have been more than a few weeks, but you just weren't yourself… and then I remembered how I felt, and it all clicked." Emily sighs and collects her thoughts. "I didn't want you to…" choose him over me, "break up with him only to find out you're pregnant and then have no idea what to do."

"Emily, you didn't have to…" JJ sits across from Emily with a huff and rakes a hand through her hair. "I hadn't been seeing him for a year, you know."

"What?" Now it's Emily's turn to be confused. JJ had seemed so light in the beginning, in what Emily had thought was the beginning.

(Maybe it was the beginning, just a different one.)

"I didn't even call him until just after Rossi joined the team." JJ watches as the cogs turn in Emily's mind, over and over until this new fragment of information is registered. "And even then, I never intended for it to be anything serious."

JJ swallows thickly, feeling the tears prick at her eyes. She's just so frustrated because her—their, life could be so different if it weren't for five seemingly harmless words. And now it's all bubbling up and there's no way to stop it.

"But then you say that I should 'go for him' and it's like this weight is lifted and an even heavier one dumped on me because you said I should go for him." She hadn't meant to get angry. At all. But all JJ wants to do is cry out in agony, that this is all happening, that everything that has happened before this moment, happened because Emily Prentiss is too damn perceptive for her own good.

It's almost like an adrenaline black out, because when JJ's eyes focus it's as though she'd been out for hours. Emily's too still, too quiet and she doesn't know what to make of it.

Emily can feel the veins in her wrist contract and expand with each beat of her pulse, as though it was an entity of it's own. The one-two, one-two, one-two pounding through her entire body, keeping her back straight, her hands still-but-shaking, keeping her eyes focussed on each near-imperceptible twitch of JJ's hands, lips, each bat of her eyelashes until she speaks again.

The breaths come easily, lightly, she can't feel them, can't feel the way her lungs fill completely, to the brink, or the exhale through her nostrils, but it's there. It's there, and she's here, and Emily's in front of her, still as she ever has been.

"I wanted you," her lips twitch into a smile, she feels it, feels the pinpricks in her eyes. For a moment, a beat, she feels every movement of her body; every drop of her blood beating through every vein, every cell of her heart muscle, every impulse of that muscle contracting pulling a catastrophic wave of muscle and ligament through her thoracic cavity; every atom of every molecule of every cubic inch of air being pulled into her lungs, and every molecule of that being broken down and the oxygen dragged to her bloodstream; the tip of her tongue hits her bottom lip, warm and wet and it creates a spark, brings her back to the present and she smiles, fully and honestly and a tear spills over her raised cheeks and she laughs at how ridiculous she must look right now. "I wanted you, Emily, from that first second I saw you—really saw you I wanted you, wanted everything from you, whatever you could give me, I wanted it and it was insane,"

White noise curtains Emily's senses, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, it's drowning itself out until the pulse, the one-two, one-to, one-two takes over.

"I was insane… and then it's like a goddamn knee-jerk reaction because I fucked him that night, and I was shaking because it's like the world was shattering before my eyes and I could hold onto him and he wouldn't crack into a thousand shards under my fingertips."

The pounding stops and there's a shocking clarity to JJ's words, to her breaths, everything is sharp and blinding.

"You told me to go for him and I should've told you to go to hell, or slapped you, or anything but what I did because it set of this series of events that ends with me, here in your living room, married not even forty-eight hours, with you one foot out the door, and after five years I'm telling you I'm in love with you and knowing that it can't mean anything… but for some reason I couldn't let you go without telling you."

Emily's eyes are shining and her hands are trembling and she has to get a word in, because if she were JJ she'd be sprinting for that door and never look back, and she can't let that happen, not now not after that. "I didn't want you to choose him over me." It's oddly simple. Embarrassingly simple. "I was… moments from—from saying something, from doing something, from… telling you but the thought of you going back to him after a week, after a month it was making me nauseous," she licks her lips, sucks in a jagged, piercing breath, "the thought of having you in my arms, in my bed, and then having to give you up was killing me, Jay—"

"You wouldn't have." That. That's it. That's the impulse, the patellar reaction or whatever it's called, what it should have been. "You wouldn't have because I would have chosen you. If you hadn't told me to go for him I would have chosen you," her voice cracks and it's like her lungs stop working, like they seize and spasm and jerk and stutter, then there's the kickback, the backfire, the stop-start that has her eyes stinging, "every time I would have chosen you, but everything got away from me, and now you're leaving and it all ends before it ever had a chance to start…"

Emily licks her bottom lip like she does a thousand times every goddamn day and reaches out, fingertips grazing JJ's clenched hands and she doesn't dissolve, doesn't evaporate from the heat, the oils, the dead cells. She's solid and smooth and warm to the touch. She doesn't even flinch.

She lets out a sigh and it floats past her lips like a picturesque last breath, like something, everything of her is departing from her body.

"When are you leaving?"

Emily blinks. It's pragmatic and rigid and an absurd change of pace from anything that has happened in the last… God, how long have they been talking, it's either been hours or twenty minutes, tops. She blinks, has to exhume her plans, her previous thoughts, because everything that's happened in the past… whatever, has buried everything else.

"Probably, uh… I guess not long after you get back, actually."

"Okay."

She squirms, tries to wring her hands under Emily's but she stills them, and God, it's pitiful because she's always been able to do that, to derail her thoughts' trajectory by just being. Her breaths are still coming in short, her heartbeat erratic and she bites her lip. Hard. And a sharp breath later she's got Emily's hands in hers and she's tugging her forward, willing her to shift just so…

She swallows.

"Em…" she's not taking in any air and it's setting off sparks in her brain, "ju—just once—please," It comes out no more than a creak of her vocal cords and she attempts a good, solid breath, "please." She thinks she sees Emily shakes her head and wants to weep because she knows she doesn't deserve this, this chance, but she can't help it. If this is her last chance then, fuck, she's going to take it because she will not spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been. Not anymore.

Emily gives, just for a moment and her lips are mere hairs away from JJ's.

"Just once."

"Just once."

Emily tugs back, pulling JJ from the dark wood on to the plush, warm, soft couch beside her, onto her, and it's not fireworks or butterflies or violins. It's smoulders, a low burning heat that doesn't spark or flicker, just burns, no different than any other touch or graze or grasp or skin-on-skin between the two, it's just there.

(It's like a brand, like his brand but her lips, on supple, sensitive flesh that she hadn't steeled in preparation.)

Flaxen strands tangle like lace between her fingers as press after press after press of warm, dewy lips hit her nerve-endings and send impulses to her brain telling her this is real, this is JJ under her lips, under her fingertips, her knees either side of her thigh, her hands in her hair; on her shoulders; tracing her silhouette, shoulder to elbow, elbow to shoulder to chest to hip.

She breathes and it's easy, easier than it has in been days. She should be suffocating, drowning, but the fragrant, brisk air is filling her to the brim. She drags her hands from her hair, bands one around her chest as the other finds her hip and heaves JJ one-handed fully, wholly into her lap and she moves and a part of her, of both of them, is wishing she'd worn a skirt because God if this is the one chance they're going to have then they might as well make it count—but this does count, maybe more than that, because this is years, and miles, an tonnes of them of everything in them and between them and she doesn't want this to be a cheap fuck, to be something that could be tainted so easily.

JJ's fingers graze her cheek as she gives and takes and gives and takes and Emily feels her temperature rise under the pads of her fingers. She shifts, pulls JJ under her on the length of the couch and finally, finally takes as much as she was being given. She straddles slim hips and pulls back millimetres see her, to see the way her pupils dilate as she trails, follows the fitting seams of the button-down to it's hem and touches—barely there—touches the heated tissue, firm and fluttering as she gasps in her ear. Emily chuckles, warm and soft as her hand steals up JJ's side, meeting the near-imperceptible ribs, and she presses her lips to her lips, her jaw, her neck and lingers on the pulse-point for just a moment.

Beneath her, JJ's almost mewling and in another life she could have had this, but that proverbial bucket of ice-water does nothing, changes nothing because the squeak she's met with as her teeth close on JJ's lip is heaven. She feels the lips beneath her curve into a smile, one that she's seen a thousand times over and she has to break contact to grin back.

She laughs beneath her, something joyous bubbles up and spills over and she has to pull Emily back down so she can occupy the pace between her neck and shoulder to try and muffle the sound. She feels them, the tiny, tingling kisses under her collar and grabs at her sweater, she knows, she knows she can't take it off but God it feels good to try.

"Emily," it's a whisper if it's anything and she can feel her lips press into words on her collar. Her mind's humming and she's not sure she's supposed to even hear it. She tries to think what it could be, knows Emily won't tell her; I love you, I love you, I love you; I can't leave you, not now not ever; leave him, JJ.

She breathes her in and pulls back, she has to leave, she has to leave, she has to leave, but she can stay just a few minutes longer, just enough to—to—

She brushes back her hair, dark and lucent, and watches her eyes, her pupils shift in the light, the tears on the border she knows she's mirroring. She sighs, taking in every inch of her face the same way she knows Emily is with her's, she doesn't bother pushing or pulling or shifting but when she breathes it's lead.

"I don't—I don't wanna leave,"

"JJ—"

"I know, I know, I know," it ends up a whisper as she moves from under her, placing her self flush against her side. Emily still has an arm around her and her lips are still wavering just above her pulse, it's a slow—torturous, almost—divide and neither of them are willing or ready or in any way wanting to do this, to part, to leave the warmth or comfort of each other, but it's… necessary. "I have to go…"

"Would I be a hypocrite if I didn't let you?" It's a mumble against JJ's throat her she can hear the short chuckle that follows it, God, she has to let her go. She moves measured and steady and with heavy arms, pulls JJ up with her, holds her, smooths out her hopelessly wrinkled shirt and forces a smile. "Come on… don't even try and say you've packed…"

It's only a few steps to the door and once they're there it's a standstill. Neither of them inclined to move, but it's JJ who eventually does. She sniffs.

"You're right."

Emily fingers a lock of JJ's hair before twisting her lips and opening the door.

"I'll see you when you get back." JJ hums a yeah and steps over the threshold, half-bites her lip and smiles, nods, glides out, down the hall. She must walk half the twenty-foot stretch backwards because she can't keep her eyes off her, off this woman who despite all appearances, all reasons she shouldn't, she loves wholly and completely, and she just can't stop looking at her. Can't take her eyes off the way she's trying to hold back a stupid smile, off the way her check are twitching and eyes are blinking, can't quite make out the melody she's tapping on the doorframe, and as the elevator dings it's arrival, it takes everything in her not to be an idiot and blow her a kiss that would have her cackling and grinning, because it would be the last time she'd hear her voice for a week and she's always loved her laugh.

They're fragments of a story not quite put together right but they transcend that, the boxes they've been put in, and flooded it, became everything without even meaning to, and it's hard to let go again. This time, though, there's something else to hang on to, something real, something physical, something… there and real and that both of them know was there.

Is there.


End file.
